


Szerelem

by Rainbowfootsteps



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Historical Hetalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowfootsteps/pseuds/Rainbowfootsteps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeta hates her way of life, stuck behind pianos and acting like a lady. But when she finally finds the courage to escape her tyrannical mother for a while, she is attacked by Gilbert, the rather cocky bandit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aria Da Capo

“Softer. You attack the keys like they are your adversary in battle. You must work with the music, not against it.” Elizabeta sighed in frustration. Her attempt at Bach’s Aria Da Capo was comparable to a cawing raven - screeching and annoying. Roderich gently put his hand on hers, guiding her as she pressed the keys. Even with his assistance the music she produced was jarring and out of rhythm.  
“You let the music flow through you, your essence, your very being-”  
“I really can’t keep on trying to do this.” Elizabeta huffed, standing up, stomping over to a chair and flopping down in it. Roderich stayed on the piano stool, looking rather like a kicked puppy. A kicked puppy in an unflattering purple suit. For this unladylike act she received a piercing glare from her mother. Most looks she got from her mother were glares anyway, so it didn’t faze her. She smoothed out her ruffled cream dress and stared right back, a passive aggressive competition. She had certainly inherited a lot of her mother’s features - straight brown hair, inquisitive green eyes and a certain plain beauty, easily overshone but in its own way quietly exquisite. Her mother’s glare grew darker and Elizabeta was forced to avert her eyes. Instead she gazed about the drawing room.

The room wasn’t much relief from her tense discomfort - ridiculously extravagant, with high white walls decorated with stern portraits of dead ancestors. The drawing room smelled heavily of lavender and polish, to the point of being suffocating.   
“I think I’ll go outside to clear my head.” Elizabeta declared.  
“Elizabeta Héderváry, you will do no such thing!” Her mother protested, taking an incensed sip of her tea.   
“Roderich has been ever so kind teaching you the piano, you must be agreeable!” Her mother continued. Elizabeta’s mind had drifted from the conversation at this point, instead thinking of animals. Her mother reminded her of a dying swan. Not very good at doing anything except being beautiful and remorseful.  
“I can’t concentrate. I’m sure after a few minutes in the sun I’ll be ready to rage war against the piano keys again.” Elizabeta said with as much polite spite as she could, and walked out of the room through the glass doors into the garden. When Roderich let out a plaintive ‘Liz, please’, she didn’t even glance back.

As soon as the doors were closed behind her she took a deep breath of warm, not lavender scented air and smiled.   
“Berwald!” She yelled.  
“Berwald, keep me company!” A few seconds later, as if on cue, the terrifyingly large and silent stable hand seemed to materialise out of nowhere. Elizabeta grinned.  
“Finally out of there! I thought my head would explode!” She complained, trotting over to the patio seats and flopping down in one. Berwald sat in the one opposite.  
“If only I wasn’t going to be married to Roderich-” She said his name with immeasurable disgust- “Then I think I would be able to handle it. But no, I’m to be married off to listen to beethoven’s moonlight sonata played to me every night and cold clammy hands holding mine.  
“I absolutely hate playing the piano, and I hate this house. I wish I could go horse riding, and gardening, and hunting, and all the things men can do!” She sighed, tears threatening to well up.  
“I c’n get the horse ready ta go if y’ want, milady.” Berwald mumbled. Swedish by birth, he only spoke faltering german.  
“Mother would murder me!” Elizabeta laughed a little, fingering the silver necklace she always wore. Then an evil grin started to grow on her face.  
“You know what? Let’s do it! I don’t care if she screams at me to hell and back! Saddle up Snowdrop - I’m going riding!”

 

Elizabeta stood in the stables. In trousers. She hopped from one foot to the other, buzzing with excitement. She had stolen the outfit from her brother’s room - it was a little big, but at least that hid the fact that she was female. She shoved her hair under a man’s hat, and inspected herself on the metal blade of a saw. Anybody looking at her would think she was a feminine-looking young gentleman out for a ride. A battered old sword was slung through the belt - mainly because it made Elizabeta feel powerful.  
“Are y’ sure you want to do this?” Berwald asked hesitantly, holding Snowdrop’s reins.  
“Are you going to stop me?” Elizabeta challenged with a grin. Berwald smiled slightly, patted Snowdrop, and then melted into the barn, presumably to act innocent should Elizabeta’s mother come screeching out of the house holding a frying pan.  
“Hey, girl.” Elizabeta murmured, petting Snowdrop’s withers. Snowdrop snorted and shook her white mane, the lustre of her coat seeming to say ‘look at me, I’m beautiful and serene, like everything on this estate, except you, Elizabeta’. She shook the thought out of her head. Scrambling onto the saddle, Elizabeta grinned.   
“Down to the lake or towards Delitzsch?” She asked. Snowdrop make a strange grunting noise.  
“Delitzsch it is then!”


	2. Red eyes, bad attitude

She rode Snowdrop along the dirt road, orange leaves clinging desperately to the gnarled branches of the oak trees to each side of her. The only birdsong was the desolate cry of a distant heron, muted through the falling leaves. The sky above them was a pale blue, the sun hiding behind wispy clouds. As she rode, she talked to Snowdrop.  
“Mother’s always going on about Roderich!” She complained.  
“‘Oh, look at Roderich, he’s a master at the piano. Oh, look at Roderich, he’s such a gentleman.’ Roderich my foot. You know what he does? Whenever he drinks, he scrunches his face up like a hideous gargoyle.” Snowdrop snorted empathetically.  
“And have you heard his voice? ‘Zat vaz my best cup, you immmbecile!’ I hate him! I hate the stupid piece of hair that stands straight up in his fringe! I hate his pale veiny hands!” She proclaimed.  
“I hate him!” She repeated, yelling it at the silent trees. They susurrated in reply.  
“And his stupid glasses! He doesn’t even need them! He just thinks they make him look cultured! What an airhead!” She grumbled. She wouldn’t admit it to herself, but she was also rather afraid of Roderich. When he was angry he was violent and blind with rage, not someone she wanted to be on the receiving end of. She had never directly opposed him, at least before today.

 

“His beauty spot is positively hideous-” She broke off, peering into the distance. Was that a person coming the other way towards them? She bit her lip. What if they realised she was a woman? Her face wasn’t terribly feminine. As a child she had easily pretended to be a boy, wearing trousers until her mother forced her to stop and wear dresses. So hopefully with her hair all scooped up into the hat, nobody would realise she was female. The stranger came closer.

They were close enough now that she could see it was a man on a horse. He was quite handsome, actually, but quite odd. He was very young, in his early twenties, about Elizabeta’s age. But he had white hair and red eyes, a startling combination. And he wore peasant’s clothes - a tattered brown jacket over a baggy white top and black trousers. A few things were slung through his belt, one seeming to be an instrument. He had the air about him of a gentleman, however, riding his brown horse serenely. When they were side by side, he brought his horse to a stop.

 

“Sir, if you have a moment?” He asked politely. Elizabeta coughed worriedly.   
“Y-yes?” She said in a deep voice, coaxing Snowdrop to halt.  
“Hello, my name’s Gilbert, pleasure to meet you.” Elizabeta smiled awkwardly at him. Did he have to continue this conversation? Maybe if she bolted now he wouldn’t follow.  
“I was just admiring your horse. She has a mesmerising coat. and I thought, little old me, materialistic in every way, I really must have it.” Gilbert pulled a gun out of his belt and lazily pointed it at Elizabeta. Oh dear. 

Terrified, she almost fell off Snowdrop in her haste to dismount. Gilbert also smoothly slid off his horse.  
“Thank you for being so cooperative, dear sir!” Gilbert grinned and laughed. He had a laugh as weird as his appearance, a loud ‘kesesese!’ that was extremely obnoxious.   
“Not that anyone would dare oppose the amazing Gilbert!” He continued. Something flared inside Elizabeta. Anger? Her repressed disgust of chauvinistic pigs? The truly awful schnitzel she’d had for lunch? Who knows. But whatever it was, it made her pull her sword.  
“Not anyone but me.” She growled, pointing the sword right at Gilbert’s nose. Surprised, Gilbert took a step back and raised his gun, pulling back the hammer.   
“Put the sword down.” Gilbert demanded. Elizabeta took a deep breath. If she put the sword down, he would steal her horse and she would be forced to walk home to shame, and worst of all, Roderich. If she didn’t put the sword down, she would be shot. She took another deep breath and closed her eyes.  
“No.” She replied. Gilbert pulled the trigger.


	3. Sword Fights and Bad Decisions

When Elizabeta opened her eyes she was, quite surprisingly, not dead. She looked in wonder at Gilbert, who was standing there in shock. He’s forgotten to load it, Elizabeta thought in wonder. Before Gilbert could recover from his confusion, she leapt forward and smacked the gun out of his hands with her sword.  
“Don’t move.” She ordered, the sword pressed against his neck. He yelped, raising his hands.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You can keep your stupid horse! I was just trying to get some money to eat, damn you!” Gilbert’s cries were so pitiful that Elizabeta slowly drew her sword back from his neck, still aiming it at him.  
“Not so amazing now, huh?” She crowed, rather pleased at her swordsmanship. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but at least it was working.  
“You don’t have to rub it in.” Gilbert grumbled. A heron in a tree above honked, and Elizabeta glanced up. That was all that Gilbert needed. Instantly he dived around the sword, pushed Elizabeta to the ground and rammed his knee into her gut. The sword flew out of her hand and clattered a few metres away.  
“Ah! Get off me, you pig!” She yelled, scrabbling at his knee.  
“Ha! Nobody can beat the amazing Gilbert!” He cried with a smug grin.  
“And I’m going to take your hat!” He taunted. Elizabeta’s eyes widened.  
“No, wait-” Gilbert pulled her hat away and her hair came loose.

“Oh my god, you’re a girl!?” Gilbert was instantly off her gut, and backing away. Elizabeta stood up angrily, trying to wipe a mud smear off her trousers.  
“Yeah, so what?” She growled.  
“I can’t kill a girl!” He replied, and was about to say something else but stopped when he caught Elizabeta’s glare.  
“Go back home to your fancy house and tea sets then. Damn you.” He grumbled, picking up his useless gun.   
“Where are you going to go?” Elizabeta inquired. Gilbert laughed mirthlessly.  
“Ah yes, I, the bandit, am going to tell this girl my next destination. She has no reason to tell this to policemen, surely!” He said waspishly. Elizabeta made a grumpy huffing sound in response.

Then an idea started to grow in her. Stupid? Yes. Reckless? Definitely. But anything was better than going home.  
“Take me with you.” She demanded. Gilbert raised his eyebrows and laughed.  
“Why would I want to do that? Go home, little girl.” He replied with a snicker. Elizabeta burned with indignation.  
“I’ll give you my silver necklace.” She offered, quickly tucking it under her top. Gilbert frowned.  
“I could just rip that off you at any time.” He pointed out.   
“You wouldn’t.” She replied, confident in her assumption that under Gilbert’s contempt for her, he was hesitant to actually hurt her, much less rummage about in her top for a necklace! Gilbert scowled.  
“Fine! See if I care.” He turned around to swing onto his horse, then groaned. Snowdrop and Gilbert’s horse were nowhere to be seen.  
“You scared them off!” Gilbert accused.  
“I scared them off? You did!” Elizabeta snapped back.   
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Either way, we’re walking.” She said, pushing her hair back under her hat. She had a feeling she would quite regret this decision.


	4. Mindless Chatter

“Favourite colour?”  
“Red, like my awesome eyes!”  
“Whatever. Favourite animal?”  
“Birds.” She never thought her life would include mindless chatter with a bandit as they walked down a tranquil autumn road, but here she was, discovering the personality of the supercilious Gilbert.  
“What, because their brains are the same size as yours?” She teased.  
“At least I have one.” He grumped.  
“Keep on like that and I’ll impale you.” She threatened lightheartedly, swinging her sword back and forth hacking back imaginary vines. The sky above was slowly melting from a pale blue to a calming lilac, the sun sinking down behind pine-covered hills.  
“Let’s find somewhere to stay for the night.” Gilbert suggested, strutting off the road and through the skeletal trees. Elizabeta hesitantly followed, rotting leaves squishing underfoot.

The small fire Gilbert had created fought off the worst of the cold windy night, but Elizabeta was still chilled to the bone as she sat with her arms outstretched to the fire. On the other side of the fire, Gilbert was fussing about with his jacket, trying to lie it down so that he wouldn’t have to sleep on damp leaves. It wasn’t working. With an exasperated sigh, he sat down and like Elizabeta, reached his arms out to the fire.  
“If we still had my pack, we would have blankets.” He didn’t hesitate to point out.  
“If you had remembered to load your gun, you wouldn’t be stuck with me.” She replied with a challenging smile. Instead of continuing with this banter, Gilbert shot back an unrepeatable insult and slowly drew something from his belt. Instead of his (presumably still empty) gun, he took out a flute.  
“Strange thing to carry about with you.” Elizabeta commented. Gilbert ignored her, and started to play a merry tune. It sounded like marching music, but was energetic and lively. His melodic music flowed through the air, making everything seem calmer and warmer, filling Elizabeta with a happiness Roderich’s piano music had never given her. She felt as if the slowly falling leaves were soldiers, marching to the ground. All too soon the song had come to an end.  
“That was amazing.” Elizabeta breathed. Gilbert shrugged.  
“Hohenfriedberger march. A good friend of mine wrote it.” He told her, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.  
“And I’m the best flute player in the world, so you know.” He added proudly, which earned him a stuck-out tongue.  
“Get off your high horse - oh wait, it already ran away!” Elizabeta laughed, and Gilbert scowled.  
“Go to sleep or I might decide to slit your throat while you sleep.” He threatened.  
“We have a long way to walk tomorrow.” He rolled over, clearly tired of the constant arguing and teasing they had kept up all day long.  
“Goodnight, Gilbert.”  
“Goodnight, Elizabeta.” As the fire died between them, Elizabeta fell into a peaceful sleep, filled with beautiful flute music and leaf soldiers marching through the forest.


	5. Pillbug Eyebrows

“Why is your hair white?” Elizabeta asked as they meandered down the road. They were going around Delitzsch at Gilbert’s orders. No longer in forest, they were surrounded by fallow fields. The sky above them was dark and threatened to rain. Their breakfast of berries and a stolen - ‘borrowed’, as Elizabeta was quick to say - loaf of bread from a cottage they passed had not quite satisfied her hunger, and occasionally her stomach grumbled unhappily.  
“I was born like this.” Gilbert said quickly. The proud Gilbert is sensitive of his hair of all things, Elizabeta thought to herself. Eager to change the subject, Gilbert pulled out his flute. The tune he played was much more complicated and foreboding than the one he had played last night, but it perfectly fit the empty fields and grey skies, filling the air with mystery and magic. It was as she listened to the mesmerising tune that Elizabeta realised she was growing quite fond of Gilbert. As they walked along, Gilbert playing his flute and Elizabeta listening intently, neither of them noticed the two black-clad men riding towards them on black horses until it was too late.  
“Highwaymen!” Gilbert yelled, breaking off his tune and ruining the pristine moment. Elizabeta pulled her sword, trembling slightly. Gilbert drew his gun. The two men rode around them in circles, pushing them back to back.

 

“Arthur Kirkland, at ya service!” One of the men yelled. He had blond hair and atrociously big eyebrows, resembling caterpillars on his face. He had a distinctly english accent. The other man had red hair, freckles, a long nose and a very mean expression.  
“Give us all ya money!” Arthur cried, aiming his gun at Gilbert.  
“Arthur, you know this is my stretch of the road! Get your own territory, you english brat! And take your pill bug eyebrows with you!” Gilbert yelled at him, waving his gun expressively. Arthur just cackled, his horse stomping and flaring its nostrils.  
“Aww, Prussian albino boy wants me to leave!” Arthur cried.   
“Stop, both of you!” Elizabeta pleaded, unclipping her silver necklace.  
“Take this. It is worth a lot of money.” She held it out to Arthur, who snatched it from her hand.  
“Why thank you, fine sir!” Arthur tipped his hat, then kicked his horse. It reared and snorted, its hooves coming dangerously close to Elizabeta’s face.   
“But don’t think I’d leave without giving you a gift!” Arthur said with raised pill bug eyebrows. He aimed his gun at Gilbert’s right arm, and fired. Before either Gilbert or Elizabeta could react, Arthur and his accomplice were gone in a cloud of dust.

“Agh!” Gilbert cried, looking more than a little distressed. The bullet had grazed his arm and blood was seeping through his torn jacket sleeve. Elizabeta immediately ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom of her top - she already had to bunch it up at the bottom when she wore it, so it didn’t really matter. As soon as she could stop Gilbert hopping up and down, she carefully bandaged his wound. Gilbert tried valiantly not to cry, but a single tear fell from his cheek.  
“Shock, that’s all.” He insisted, aggressively wiping his eyes.   
“It’s alright to cry, no need to make such a fuss of it.” Elizabeta said with an exasperated roll of her eyes. When Gilbert was bandaged up and no longer insisting that the single tear was because of the dust in his eyes, Elizabeta demanded that they request help at the next cottage they came too.  
“You’ll get an infection if that wound isn’t tended to properly.” Elizabeta said firmly. Gilbert tried to argue against it, but Elizabeta was even more stubborn than he was.  
“Fine, but don’t blame me if we’re thrown into jail.” He huffed.


	6. Acquaintances Made

“I can’t thank you enough for taking us in.” Elizabeta said to the homely farmer’s wife she sat opposite to. Introduced as Inga, the woman had gladly taken Elizabeta and Gilbert in, and had made Elizabeta a hot cup of tea as her husband did whatever men do in the next room.  
“It’s nothing, my dear. Every few months we get someone in who has brushed shoulders with bandits and needs help. Dangerous roads, these.” Inga tutted. She certainly wasn’t beautiful, with a plain face specked with pockmarked scars and straw-like blond hair, but she was the most kindhearted person Elizabeta had ever met. Elizabeta was compelled to tell all her life’s problems to Inga.

 

“You don’t look very well yourself, pumpkin.” Inga observed, as if reading Elizabeta’s mind. She sighed.  
“I’ve made a big decision and I don’t know if it was the right one. How can I know that what I’m doing is best for me?” Elizabeta asked, taking a long sip of her tea. The pale orange light filtering into the room warmed her skin, making her feel quite at home in this little kitchen. Inga smiled.  
“If you always follow your heart, you are never truly lost.” She said wisely, with a twinkle in her carnelian blue eyes.  
“And I think you have chosen your companions well. He seems like quite a nice young gentleman!” She added. Elizabeta thought for a moment about Gilbert. ‘Nice young gentleman’ certainly weren’t the words she would use to describe him. ‘Incompetent obnoxious cretin’, perhaps. ‘Mystifying flute-playing birdbrain’, even.   
“It’s so nice to talk to someone..” Elizabeta admitted.  
“I feel like I’m trying to walk two paths.” She continued. Inga nodded slowly.  
“Divus zaķus reizē ķerdams nevienu nenoķersi. You must not run after two hares at the same time.” Inga said with a warm smile. 

Their calm cups of tea were interrupted by an overzealous Gilbert barging into the room.  
“Look! Alexander patched up my arm!” He said proudly, showing off the bandage. He stuck out his arm then winced.  
“Eheh, ouch…” He mumbled, nursing his arm. Inga was quickly at his side guiding him into a chair.  
“I think it would be best if you stayed a day or two.” She said kindly. Gilbert made a pained expression, which Elizabeta determined was one third real pain and two thirds attention-hungry.  
“We really shouldn’t take up any more of your time -” She protested, but was cut off by a moan from Gilbert.  
“You mustn’t go anywhere in a state like that.” Inga insisted, already making Gilbert a cup of tea. Elizabeta glared at him. He winked back.

“I gave away my necklace.” Elizabeta said carelessly as they sat outside Inga’s house, Gilbert mock-nursing his arm and Elizabeta holding an empty cup in her hands. Gilbert glanced at her.  
“I know.”  
“I promised to give you that necklace.”  
“I know.”  
“But you’re still letting me tag along.”  
“If you went your own way now, you’d get beat up by bandits or highwaymen or something!” Gilbert said too quickly. Elizabeta mock-gasped.  
“You care about me!” She cried, punching him lightly on the arm.  
“I care about you like one cares about a skunk. Not very much at all, especially given the smell and bad breath.” Gilbert replied, which earned him a proper punch.  
“Hey, lay off, I just got that fixed!” He complained. Elizabeta grinned.  
“I’m sure you could just get a new one.”  
“Oh yeah, arms are big business these days. Do you think, one day in the future, they’ll make arms? Like, out of wood or steel or something.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”


	7. Gilbird

“Berlin?”  
“It has to be something you can see.”  
“Oh. That yellow bird?”  
“It starts with B! Bird would be right, yellow bird isn’t. Have you honestly never played I spy?”  
“Kesesese, I guess not!” Gilbert admitted. Inga’s house was just out of sight. The yellow bird aforementioned flew above them in circles, seemingly searching for prey.  
“Bush?” Gilbert guessed.  
“You’re getting close.” Elizabeta replied. She looked at the side of the road, tufts of bushes clinging to the last of their small berries.  
“Blueberries!” Gilbert yelled triumphantly and Elizabeta nodded.  
“It only took you 13 tries.” She pointed out. Gilbert pouted. The damp mud squelching under his boots seemed to be an equivalent of his mood. _His emotions change faster than the wind_ , Elizabeta mused. They'd been playing I spy for most of the afternoon; Gilbert had refused to hold a proper conversation after Elizabeta had discovered he didn't possess any bullets and had proceeded to laugh until she cried.  
“I’m tired.” Gilbert declared. He looked around. They were still surrounded by fields and no obvious shelter offered itself. In the far distance, a barn stood silently.  
“We’ll set up camp in that barn.” He ordered, with extra gusto in his step.  
“At least it isn’t-” Before he could finish his sentence, the first few droplets of water fell from the brooding storm above.  
“-Raining.” He finished lamely.  
“Run for the barn!” Elizabeta shrieked, laughing as she started to sprint. The rain quickly grew heavier, small pieces of hail starting to hit the ground. She hadn’t noticed the drop in temperature, but it was evident now. The mud under her shoes made the run towards the barn slippery and soon it was all she could do to not fall over.  
“Race you!” She yelled to Gilbert, sliding more than running at this point. Her mother would have been horrified - Roderich would have fainted, then caught a vicious cold at the very thought of being in the rain.  
“You’re on, little girl!” Gilbert yelled back, scrambling to catch up to Elizabeta. A great flash of light engulfed the clouds. An instant later it was followed by a massive rumble. The rain fell even heavier.

Gilbert was first to reach the barn, his long legs giving him the advantage. He flopped down on some hay and then instantly stood up, horrified to find that the hay was now effectively glued to him due to the rain and mud.  
“Get it off!” He wailed. With an exasperated sigh Elizabeta helped him wipe the hay off his back and out of his hair, getting quite a bit stuck to her own hands. Rolling her eyes, she clambered up the ladder into the barn’s loft.  
“There’s a space up here!” She called down, sitting down on the dusty wood. The hail was loud above her thrumming on the roof, but the barn was warm and watertight.  
“I’m coming- hey, look!” Gilbert’s head came into view and perched on the top was the small yellow bird that had been flying above them.  
“He likes me!” He said with a grin. He clambered into the loft, careful not to shake the bird off. Sitting down opposite Elizabeta, the bird hopped off his head and onto his shoulder. It squawked, nuzzling Gilbert’s cheek.  
“Oh, oh, I’ve got to name him!” Gilbert gasped happily like a child being given a toy.  
“Your name is… Gilbird!” He cried triumphantly and Elizabeta raised her eyebrows.  
“Gilbird.” She repeated, unimpressed. Gilbird chirped enthusiastically. He only came up to Gilbert’s ear when sitting on his shoulder and was more feather than bird.  
“Well, don’t blame me if he decides to up and leave.” Elizabeta warned, secretly adoring the little bird. What were the chances of it warming up to Gilbert? Lying down to try and get to sleep, she saw Gilbert take out his flute. As she closed her eyes, the sweet tunes of the quick song conjured thoughts of pixies and fairies dancing and flying through a fantasy forest. She quickly fell asleep.


	8. Staten Landt

The next morning was announced by a brilliant pink sunrise, tinting the clouds pink. A gentle wind caressed the few leaves that still hung to mostly bare trees.The ground was wet and muddy. The only sound that broke the silence of the day were two travelers arguing heatedly.  
“It’s not impossible!” Elizabeta snapped.  
“Of course it is! Those dutch are insane, thinking that there’s really an island in the middle of the sea covered in fantastic beasts like that!” Gilbert replied waspishly.  
“My father was one of those dutch explorers!” Elizabeta growled.  
“I’m just saying, Staten Landt sounds like it’s made up to me. Birds bigger than people that can’t fly? Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing!” Gilbert scoffed. Gilbird still sat on his shoulder, looking even poofier than he was yesterday.  
“You’re just afraid of things you don’t understand!” Elizabeta cried angrily. Gilbert went silent for a while.  
“I just have more common sense than some people.” He muttered back. 

For half an hour after this they pointedly ignored each other, grumpily folding their arms and looking away. The farmland fell away and became hilly fields with rushing rivers carved into the sides. The road became little more than a desire path, barely wide enough for a horse and carriage. Above them the sun hid behind a cloud. Eventually Elizabeta’s anger wore off and boredom took over.  
“If you had as much money as you wanted, where would you go?” She asked Gilbert, hopping over a tuft of grass. Gilbert thought for a moment.  
“I would go buy a massive estate in Poland or maybe here in Germany. And I would live freely in it with nobody telling me what to do.” He decided thoughtfully.  
“What about you?” He asked back. Elizabeta bit her lip.  
“I would go as far away as I could. I would travel whenever I want and go to lots of different places.” She declared. Gilbert nodded sagely. His eyes, when lost in thought, were beautiful, like a comforting winter fire. She could stare into them forever.  
“You could be with your own kind and go live with some Rabbits.” He joked. Elizabeta scrunched up her nose.  
“That’s…. That’s…” She trailed off. What was that vibration? 

She glanced behind them to see a horse and rider in the far distance, galloping towards them with an outreached arm.  
“It must be Arthur!” Gilbert gasped, grabbing Elizabeta’s hand. They ran off the path, stumbling over rocks and grass clumps. With a chirp Gilbird frantically flew off Gilbert’s shoulder into the sky. The rider was quickly gaining on them but Elizabeta didn’t dare turn around to look. Her hat flew off and her hair came free, getting in her face as she ran. They ran down a short hill and she gasped. A swollen river rushed in front of them, too wide and fast to possibly swim across.  
“Stop this at once!” Oh no. She knew that voice. She looked up at the man on horseback, standing at the top of the hill looking down at them.  
“Roderich…..”


	9. Choices of the heart

Elizabeta was silent, shocked. Roderich’s dark horse churned at the dirt, shaking its head. Roderich, too, was looking particularly dark, wearing black riding gear. And, of course, a white cravat.  
“I’m here to save you, Elizabeta!” Roderich declared, struggling to calm his horse. Elizabeta’s shock started to wear off and slowly became anger.  
“Save me?” She cried back, balling her hand into a fist.  
“I don’t need saving!” She yelled. Roderich stared at her with surprised eyes. Elizabeta, too, was surprised with her own outburst. Being with Gilbert had made her more rebellious, it seemed. Speaking of, Gilbert was looking bewildered. He snatched Elizabeta’s sword from where it hung beside her waist and slung it through his own belt, clearly intent on protecting her.  
“Who are you?” He demanded, pointing aggressively at Roderich.  
“My name is Roderich Eidelstein, soon to be the husband of Elizabeta Héderváry.” He replied with an arrogant smirk.  
“And who are you, ruffian?” He started to ease his horse down the slope, evidently struggling to stay in control.  
“Gilbert, soon to be punching the smile off your face.” He growled back. He glanced at Elizabeta, with a look that clearly said ‘You’re marrying this guy?!’. Elizabeta shot a panicked look back. Having rode his horse down the short slope, Roderich smoothly dismounted. He was the picture of bourgeoisie, strutting delicately over to Elizabeta and Gilbert.  
“Come back with me, Elizabeta. Your mother and I have been so worried about you, being kidnapped by this awful bandit.” Roderich gushed, holding Elizabeta’s hands and looking at her imploringly. Gilbert’s glare darkened but he didn’t pull out his gun. 

Elizabeta was at a loss for words. She had never expected Roderich to ride out all this way just to find her and take her home. It was almost sickening how much he was infatuated with her. Did he not realise she felt nothing back? And how he insulted Gilbert without even knowing who he was. The more docile side of her told her she should just nod and go back with Roderich. What had she even been thinking, trying to run away with some hoodlum? But the rebellious side reared its fierce head. She should be able to do what she wanted with her life. She didn’t love Roderich. She could barely tolerate him! She inhaled deeply.  
“No.” She replied, staring defiantly into Roderich’s blue, almost lilac eyes. 

Roderich blinked, mouth open like a fish.  
“What?” He stammered, limply letting go of her hands.  
“No.” She repeated.  
“I don’t want to go back to your boring piano playing, or your ridiculous poems or any of that life! I’m not happy with you! Can’t you see? I belong free to roam as I wish like this!” She exclaimed. Roderich’s confused look passed. Instead a furious glare grew on his face.  
“Insolent woman! You don’t have a choice in this!” He growled and Elizabeta shrank back against his words. Gilbert looked ready to explode, trembling, his knuckles white on the hilt of the sword.  
“Now stop this foolishness and come. Back. Home!” What happened next seemed to span an eternity. Roderich drew back his gloved hand, a look of red fury blazing in his eyes. Then he struck her violently, slapping her across the cheek.


	10. Bang

“Fight me, you jerk!” Gilbert yelled, drawing his sword. Elizabeta stumbled back a step, indignation smouldering within her. Roderich drew his sword, glaring at Gilbert.  
“You dare get between me and Elizabeta? I’ll slice you in half, idiotic vagabond!” Roderich proclaimed, full of prose even when fighting. 

Crash! Their swords connected, metal striking against metal again and again. Elizabeta didn’t dare get close should she get caught in between them. Roderich swung at Gilbert again and again, but Gilbert was clearly the better swordsman. Attack after frenzied attack he parried aggressively, always stepping in so Roderich was forced backwards towards the river. Roderich’s attacks grew more panicky, his breath ragged as he fended off a jab that would have gutted him.  
“You think,” He gasped,  
“That you deserve Elizabeta? You’re just a gutter rat!” Gilbert’s eyes narrowed.  
“Women aren’t something to be owned!” He hissed back.  
“They’re people like you and me. You’re just too much of a prick to realise that.” He snapped, striking a blow that cut Roderich’s arm. As blood started to drip from his wrist, Roderich raised his arms and dropped his sword. It clanged on a rock before lying still. Behind him, the river was only a few steps away. With a sad smile, Roderich raised his eyebrows.  
“Alright. You win. You’re better than me.” He admitted with a sigh. Gilbert grinned.  
“Of course I am! I’m awesome!” He crowed, closing his eyes for just a moment as he threw his head back and laughed.

That was all the time Roderich needed. In an instant he had drawn the gun from its leather holster and had it aimed at Gilbert’s heart.  
“Drop the sword!” He yelled triumphantly.  
“Gilbert!” Elizabeta cried, running towards him.

_Bang!_


	11. Falling Leaves

Time stood still. Gilbert looked down at his chest, wide-eyed. A patch of red began to grow on his chest. He slowly turned to look at Elizabeta. His eyes betrayed his terror, mouth open but silent. His eyes went glassy and he started to fall. Slowly, like a leaf gently drifting on the wind. Then he was on the ground, trembling, bleeding, crying silently, breath painfully shallow.

Roderich dropped the gun, the realisation of what he had done finally hitting him.  
“Oh my god.” He looked down at his hands in horror.  
“This isn’t…. This wasn’t…. It was self-defense…. I was only…” He slowly backed away, eyes blank in confusion.  
“Gilbert!” Elizabeta cried, falling to his side. He looked up at her in wonder, a thin trail of blood dripping out of his mouth onto the ground.  
“You’re really beautiful.” He whispered.  
“Don’t die, please don’t die, you can’t.” Elizabeta sobbed, holding his hand tightly. Gilbert smiled weakly.  
“Sometimes the awesome have to leave to make way for new heroes.” He rasped, his trembling slowly receding. He blinked slowly.  
“Elizabeta…” He breathed. She nodded, still crying.  
“Take care of my flute.” He said.   
“You need to, because you aren’t going to die-” She stopped herself.  
“I- I will.” She promised, tears falling like crystals from her eyelashes. He nodded slightly, a peaceful smile on his lips. Then he was gone, his red eyes blank.

Silently, Elizabeta reached to his waist and gently tugged the flute out of his belt. Then she slowly removed the gun. Hair falling like a veil around her face, she rested her forehead on Gilbert’s shoulder, letting herself cry until nothing was left. She only noticed now how happy he made her, how much she valued him. She only now realised that she loved him, his magical flute music, his excited grin, the way he made the time they spent beautiful. The way he made her feel happy and free, like she had never felt before. And… He was gone.  
“Elizabeta….. You must come home now.” Roderich said quietly behind her. She slowly lifted her head.  
“I’m sorry, Gilbert.” She said. She couldn’t go back with Roderich. She could barely look at him. He disgusted her. Was this really where her journey ended? It had felt like it would go on forever. But her only option was to go back to that life of being with Roderich…

No. That wasn’t her only option. It was extreme. It was stupid. But she would rather do it than live a life of misery.  
“I won’t be able to keep my promise.” She closed her eyes and stood up, flute in her right hand, gun in her left. She turned to face Roderich.  
“I hope you’re happy, Roderich.” She said with a smile.  
“I know I can’t shoot you. I could never bring myself to do that. But I can do one thing.” She continued.  
“And what is that?” Roderich asked cautiously. Slowly, Elizabeta pointed the gun to her chest.

 

“I can deny you a victory.” She said with a bittersweet smile.  
“Elizabeta, no, no, please, think about this!” Roderich pleaded.   
“I’m sorry that I can’t keep my promise, Gilbert, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me. I’ll be seeing you very soon anyway.” Elizabeta said loudly. Perhaps he could hear her. She could almost hear quiet flute music playing, comforting her, soothing her, as she pulled the trigger.


End file.
